Stay at Home

The house was quiet. Still.

Emily stood in the hallway a moment longer after Chloe’s soft breathing faded behind the nursery door. The silence stretched out, thick and open-ended, like a blank page. She hadn’t realized how rare it was—this kind of calm. No crying, no phone ringing, no to-do list buzzing in the back of her mind.

She wandered toward the kitchen, absently tucking a loose strand of damp hair behind her ear, the hem of her nursing tank brushing her thighs. Her bare feet padded across the tile, cool and grounding. The light through the window glinted off the baby monitor’s screen on the counter, still quiet.

It was only 9:12 a.m.

The entire day lay ahead.

She poured herself half a cup of lukewarm coffee from the pot Jason had made before leaving. It was bitter, but she didn’t bother with cream. Just sipped, slowly, looking out the window at the empty backyard. A bird hopped along the fence. Somewhere down the block, a lawnmower started.

Emily exhaled.

Then she turned around and leaned her back against the counter, staring out across the house.

She could clean. The hallway needed dusting. The bathroom mirror had Chloe’s tiny handprints on it again. And she wasn’t sure how long that laundry basket had been sitting full of clean clothes—maybe two days?

She could shower again. Not out of necessity. Just to feel good. Maybe shave. Maybe use that body oil Jason never noticed but always made her skin feel soft.

She could nap. She needed one. Probably.

Or… she could do something else. Something indulgent. Old music. A book she hadn’t touched since Chloe was born. Maybe even…

Her eyes flicked toward the bookshelf in the living room, where her laptop sat closed beneath a stack of mail.

She hadn’t opened her “personal folder” since her third trimester. Jason had found her toys when packing up before the baby and jokingly called them “retired.” She’d laughed along. But now…

Emily shifted, the seam of her panties tugging gently between her thighs. Her nipples brushed the inside of her tank again, still tender from the morning’s letdown.

Maybe she wasn’t tired.

Maybe she was restless.

Maybe she wanted to feel something again.

She took another sip of coffee, then stood there, undecided. The day waited.